


To Those Who Will Inherit the Earth

by auroralpha



Category: The Boyz (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angel!Jaehyun, Angel!Younghoon, Demon!Juyeon, Lee Jaehyun is a Tsundere, M/M, angel!changmin, but only vague allusions, contains certain religious themes, with a capital T
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:07:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28155810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auroralpha/pseuds/auroralpha
Summary: A century has passed since the Holy War has ended and, if Jaehyun was being completely honest, the succeeding years were uneventful, marred by the occasional slip-ups of either party. Angels may co-exist with demons now, a notion that was formerly frowned upon, but in today’s society it was hardly an issue.Thanks to his valiant contributions in the war, his rank was upped to the Seraph status, something he certainly was proud of, but not for long, because in this day and age he feels like his job only entails doing the dirty work.Said dirty work involves running after demons who dare disrupt the peace.
Relationships: Ji Changmin | Q/Kim Younghoon, Lee Jaehyun | Hyunjae/Lee Juyeon
Comments: 5
Kudos: 57





	To Those Who Will Inherit the Earth

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back, and I think this will be the last time I'll be writing for a while, before I crawl back to the hellhole called work.
> 
> I loosely pulled off some of the lore from other existing series (namely, Supernatural).

-

A century has passed since the Holy War has ended and, if Jaehyun was being completely honest, the succeeding years were uneventful, marred by the occasional slip-ups of either party. Angels may co-exist with demons now, a notion that was formerly frowned upon, but in today’s society it was hardly an issue.

Thanks to his valiant contributions in the war, his rank was upped to the Seraph status, something he certainly was proud of, but not for long, because in this day and age he feels like his job only entails doing the _dirty work_.

The dirty work— a glorified term, really— is simply him cleaning up after a demon’s mess, or him catching a troublesome demon on the run, or him exorcising a demon off an incompatible vessel. Anything that concerns demon, really, is his job. It’s all law enforcement work that bores him immensely, having been in this business for decades now with no end in sight, but he should be thankful, he thinks, for the reprieve. Not all angels get to bask in the luxury of being regularly employed, regardless of the nature of the job or the moral implications of it, sans, of course, being a guardian angel (which he thinks, in disgust, is the lowest kind of job one would offer an angel).

So he thinks, through gritted teeth, as he backs his body against the wall one night, that he should be grateful.

He should be grateful for being handed the task of chasing after two low-level demons whose only purpose in life, apparently, is to terrorize a middle-aged man who just emerged from a grocery store.

Purging a demon is fundamentally an easy feat. What makes the work a little harder, however, is having to do it in secrecy; majority of the humans have yet to grasp the full existence of their kind, and he will certainly not start now. Unfortunately, in that vein, he considers himself to be pretty rebellious; after all, he _could_ use some fun while he tries to escape the dreary cycle of his never-ending work.

He stalks the trio as the two gremlins, dressed in fake leather _and_ boots, begins egging the man on for their entertainment, dragging him with them in the dark alleyway despite his wails of protest.

When he shows up on the scene, the two demons hiss at him, and under the dim light he makes out two pairs of iridescent red eyes glaring at his direction.

In an instant, the heated venom in their gazes is gone, replaced by a growing sense of trepidation as they let go of the man’s collar in favor of pushing their legs away from his sight.

“Go,” he tells the man who looks up at him incredulously, the fear in his eyes evident, and with bated breath he scampers off to a different direction, muttering a clipped ‘thank you’ before he took off.

He chases after the pair, and as he rounds the corner, he’s met by one of them holding him at gunpoint.

“Now, now,” he chides in a sing-song manner, as he slides his eyes to the owner of the gun, “This is all extremely unnecessary.”

He holds the barrel of the gun and smirks, lifting his unoccupied hand to place his palm on the other’s forehead. His irises flash bluish-white, and before another human chances upon the sight, the two are gone with a burst of light, reduced to smithereens under the dimming glare of the broken lamp post.

He sighs, daintily dusting off the ashes that strayed to his polo shirt, and turns on his heel to dip out of the scene, until he catches wind of another presence.

It’s menacing, disturbingly familiar in the way it curls around him reeking of _death_ , its heavy weight rendering him to stop on his heels.

He narrows his eyes, a palpable sense of uneasiness seeping into him.

It’s nothing akin to anything he’s ever felt before, at least, not in _this_ decade, and it’s been so long since he last waged a fight against anyone of his level, be it a demon or a fellow angel. That one ended quite badly, though, in part due to his recklessness, and it took him weeks before he was able to get back on track.

He scans his surroundings in hopes of pinpointing the source, trying to be casual as he pockets both of his hands and starts on his trail again.

Before anxiety shoots through him, the presence is abruptly gone.

-

The bar is remarkably empty for a Friday night, which only further dampens his mood.

He takes his usual seat across the counter, and the bartender flashes him a knowing smile.

“It’s good to see you again,” the bartender, Kevin, greets him and cocks one perfectly manicured eyebrow at him, “The previous city wasn’t as lively, I take it?”

Kevin is one of the very few humans who’s come to know of his kind and his craft by accident. He could’ve went on and killed the poor, unaware guy, but obviously that could have gone against the heaven’s decree and cost him his grace, his lifeline, so he threatened him instead into silence.

To which, much to his irritation, Kevin laughed, but promised to swear his oath to confidentiality that he would never expose his secrets. He knows better than to trust a human, fickle creatures as they are, but the guy proved to be quite reliable and served as his intel in case his angel network is consumed by static, which, distressingly, is a growing concern in their community, so he’ll let him off for now.

Kevin slides a glass of his usual concoction toward his direction.

“It wasn’t,” he replies tersely, nodding at the other, as he downs his drink until it’s half full, the gradual burn of the alcohol almost soothing, “There weren’t many incidents these past few days in this city, either.”

He shifts his eyes back at the other.

“Say,” he starts, “Have you encountered anything strange lately?”

Kevin sinks into a contemplative state briefly, before answering, “None that I know of… ah, but there seems to be an increase in the city’s crime rate recently; it was all over the news. I’m not quite sure if that’s anything related to you guys, though.”

He opens his mouth to speak but stops, sensing the ominous presence again, this time alarmingly closer, and before he can swivel his chair to the direction of the source, the door opens and a demon walks into the bar.

 _That_ would have made it to the headlines as some sort of twisted joke, except, really, it’s no laughing matter.

The first thought that hits him is that of the demon having no business looking ridiculously handsome, hair as black as the darkest night, feline eyes with irises boasting the prettiest shade of dark brown. He shouldn’t be ogling at the man’s features, though, because he knows it’s merely a human front. The demon must be a horrid brute underneath that skin—

The demon spots him, a flash of shock coloring his features fleetingly in the way he shapes his lips with a little ‘o’, until he settles, instead, with a teasing smirk as he approaches him.

He realizes, in dizzying clarity, that the one emanating the menacing aura is Juyeon, the demon-human hybrid from a decade ago, the one who was a step closer to clipping his sacred wings, the one who almost _damned_ him.

Juyeon.

The all-too familiar dread wrenches deep in his gut.

The Cambion, the hybrid, had been the one triggering the increase in crime rate in the city, leaving debauchery in his wake.

He bristles, and before he can control himself, he stands up and catches the other by his collar, pulling him up to his level.

“Jesus Christ!” Kevin exclaims, which snaps him out of his rage momentarily in favor of giving the human a pointed glare, to which the latter responds with a muttered sorry and corrects himself, before clearing his throat, “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but can’t you take it out somewhere else, you know, _not_ in my bar?”

“Calm down, Jaehyun,” the other remarks as he grasps his hand, an unreadable smile playing on his lips, which only served to taunt him further, “Kevin’s right. I know we started off on the wrong foot—”

He begrudgingly lets the demon go and, with a grunt, pushes him back to his seat.

“I don’t know what you’re doing here, or what you’re planning to do,” he warns the demon, piping his voice down to a lower volume, although the spite laced in his tone is conspicuously unmistakable, “But I’ll have you know that I’ll cut your head off the moment you try something funny.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Juyeon responds, in a way that prompts Kevin to look at him disbelievingly; the expression he’s schooling seems a little too good-natured for someone who just received an ill-concealed threat.

“It’s been quite a while since we last saw each other,” Juyeon states; a futile attempt, really, to get him talking as if they’re long-lost friends who merely lost contact, “How have you been doing?”

“Cut to the chase,” he lashes out, earning a squawk of ‘manners!’ from Kevin whom he blatantly chooses to disregard, “What are you doing in this city?”

Juyeon shrugs, which only has him tethering further to the edge of the metaphorical cliff of finally wiping this demon _off_ the face of the earth.

He knows it’s not easy, though, even for someone of his status. Cambions, Hell’s greatest weapon, are notoriously known to hold immense power even over their own kind, able to bend the others’ will to theirs with just a mere stare. According to the scriptures, Cambions are especially more potent when Lucifer walks the Earth— a phenomenon that had been thankfully evaded when the Holy War had come to an end— and rumor has it that a Cambion could become the antichrist the moment Lucifer comes into power. Juyeon is not just any hybrid, which makes him even more dangerous; he’d been spawned by a greater demon, and the human blood in him had only served to enhance his powers.

“I was hiding.”

“Hiding?”

“Yeah,” Juyeon supplies, giving him a wooden nod. He’s looking down at his glass that’s left untouched.

He scoffs, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, “I don’t think you’ll be any good at hiding. You can’t even hide your own aura, like I’ve taught you years ago.”

Juyeon chuckles pitifully at that as Kevin proceeds to entertain the next customer. He realizes, as he notes the glazed look on the woman’s eyes, that she’s been charmed to ignore them.

He stares back at Juyeon, who hasn’t even lifted a finger.

(It was, in retrospect, his own fault that he let his guard down the last time they met. He’d reluctantly taken the half-demon spawn, who was then barely half a century old, under his wing, when he found him in the brink of death in front of his doorstep. Half-breeds are generally frowned upon by their respective kin, because they served as threats, and Juyeon was no exception.

In retrospect, _really_ , he should have killed the halfling when he had the chance.)

“I was searching for you,” Juyeon tells him, finally leveling his gaze with his.

(Except Juyeon couldn’t even hurt a fly.

From the moment Juyeon woke up from his half-dead slumber, up until the moment he lost control of his own power and turned against him, Juyeon had been nothing but benevolent, a stark contrast to the nature of his circumstances at birth. If he hadn’t known that the latter was a demon, he wouldn’t bat an eyelash if someone tells him that Juyeon’s an angel. He would have believed such a lie wholeheartedly.

Perhaps what made Juyeon endearing and, ultimately, the subject of his envy, was all the human traits he carried with him. He taught Jaehyun how to care too much, love too much, and that had caused him his own undoing. It was his own sin to bear; he didn’t feel like holding Juyeon accountable for being _human_ , of all things.

But that was in the past.)

At present, he is, above all, a creature not designed to feel such sentiments.

And despite Juyeon’s kindheartedness, it does not belie the fact that he _is_ a demon, and demons are attracted to all sorts of power. He’s drawn to _him_ , a seraph, because of his power, and nothing more.

He narrows his eyes at the other.

“No, you’re not,” he retorts, heaving out a long-suffering sigh, “Last time I checked, you did try to kill me.”

“I didn’t,” Juyeon starts, fiddling with his shot glass, “I _didn’t_ mean to. Why would I bite the hand that fed me? I don’t remember the details that well, but I’m certain it was not out of my own will.”

 _Of course_ the demon will pull that card, because he knows damn well how weak he is when he pleads him like that. And although he wants to believe it, _fervently_ wants to believe it, because the demon has an earnest look on him, and Juyeon was, in retrospect, an overall bad liar.

“Juyeon,” he calls out as he stands up, fishing for a couple of paper bills from his wallet and dropping them on the countertop.

He gives the other an icy look.

“I want you gone in the morning.”

He turns his back on the other before the latter can protest, before he _falters_ and takes back what he’s just said, and walks out of the bar, disappearing into the night.

-

Juyeon did _not_ leave the following morning, and he can feel it in the flesh and bones of his admittedly exhausted human body. Their kind does not need sleep in a way that humans do, but sleep _does_ matter for a little bit of sustenance, and it’s been days since he last slept peacefully.

The angel network lately has been unforgiving, supplying him with information on the whereabouts of countless demons of varying ranks running rampant throughout the city. It’s true that there has been an upsurge in the crime rate within the vicinity, and he knows who’s causing it all.

Demons are lovers of chaos, and this time’s no different.

Beside him, his fellow seraph, Younghoon, groans in frustration, hands balling into fists on the steering wheel. He was sent by the heavens to help Jaehyun despite his protests that he can handle the situation alone, _thank you very much_ , but that plea apparently fell on deaf ears.

So that’s how they ended up on a stakeout, within the proximity of Juyeon’s apartment, waiting for the latter to emerge from the building.

“Why are we hiding, anyway?” Younghoon asks, “You can just call him out and he’ll come to you in a heartbeat.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” he hisses back, “Look, I can handle this on my own. If you don’t want to be here, you can just leave.”

“Sorry, man, I didn’t mean it that way,” Younghoon surrenders, punctuating his remark with a sigh, “Work has been bustling recently. Changmin is coming to terms with his power, and things are starting to get ugly.”

He flinches at the mention of the human-angel hybrid, a Nephilim, whose name even the top of the brass does not dare utter. Younghoon had previously taken him under custody immediately when the halfling was born a few years ago, abandoned by his angelic father, and has somewhat grown attached to the other.

 _No_ , he thinks, bitterly. ‘Somewhat’ is an understatement. Nephilims are considered harbingers of death, and when one attains the fullest of his power, it’s said that entire worlds may _collapse_ at his whim. So he doesn’t understand how Younghoon is so smitten with the halfling when the latter can literally tear him apart.

“Ouch,” he murmurs sympathetically, offering the other angel a tight-lipped smile, “It must have been rough.”

Nephilims have their growth spurts at a terrifying rate, and even though Changmin came into the Earth precisely eight years ago, from the last time he’s seen him, he looks well into his early twenty’s already. In truth, Changmin’s a nice halfling overall, better than half of the angel population he’s acquainted with, at least, so he doesn’t think he’ll be bringing down worlds with him anytime soon.

Younghoon lets go of the steering wheel.

“You have no idea how much hell that kid put me through,” Younghoon says, looking at him with a small smile that drips of a certain fondness, and Jaehyun wants to tell him that he _does_ , as Juyeon comes to mind, unprompted.

“Well,” he responds, instead, drawing in a sharp intake of breath, “Just don’t get in trouble. You know how quick the heavens can act when they finally recognize him as a threat.”

Younghoon merely nods in return, until a retreating figure catches his eye.

“That should be him,” Jaehyun says, following his line of sight and unbuckling his seatbelt, “Let’s go.”

-

It’s suicide to battle a Cambion without an actual plan, so he managed to hatch one days after their last encounter.

(“So you want to roughen him up a little, knock him out cold, and send him back to the abyss?” Younghoon clarifies, arching a brow at him.

“Yes,” he confirms, suddenly abashed at the way Younghoon phrased the details of his plan in the most ineloquent manner.

Younghoon laughs, which earns him a well-deserved punch on the shoulder.)

The trail ends shortly before a neglected playground.

He stops dead in his tracks, feeling blood draining from his face as he sees _Changmin_ standing in front of Juyeon, the expression on the latter’s face nigh unreadable. Younghoon hurriedly pulls him aside, in the nearest corner, before he exposes both of them by accident, and whatever form of protest that bubbles in his throat is gone when the former shoots him down with a glare.

The two half-breeds must have sensed their presence by now, but they focus on curtailing it, anyway, and with bated breath, wait for the two to finish their conversation, or whatever they’re supposed to be doing in the middle of night.

 _It’s just nerves_ , he screams inside his head, trying to mask the apprehension settling deep in his gut. _Nerves_ , coupled with a sense of foreboding he almost always seem to sport when it concerns Juyeon.

(Juyeon, he thinks, desperately, _belatedly_ , is all the parts that make him human, and he hates it. He hates it that Juyeon is making him feel vulnerable in the most humane way, making him feel stripped off of his _grace_ —)

Nothing.

A minute has passed, and sans the palpable shift in the air, _nothing_ happens.

Younghoon must have sensed his mounting impatience as the latter clasps his wrist, an unspoken warning hanging in the chasm between them, but before he can yank his hand away from the hold, a resounding blast cuts through the thunderous silence.

His first instinct tells him to stand, so he does, ripping his wrist away from Younghoon’s grip. His second thought tells him to run toward the scene, damn the inevitability of exposing both him and his partner and its grave consequences, so he _does_.

The third— well. The scene that greets him has him parting his lips slightly from the shock.

It seems that Juyeon scarcely managed to deflect Changmin’s punch by his bare hand, his irises flashing gold. The miasma surrounding them is thicker now, and before Jaehyun can take another step closer, Changmin whips his head so quickly at his direction, raising his hand at him and clenching it into a fist.

An indiscernible force sends him hurling onto the ground, knocking the air effectively out of his lungs, making him gasp. He tries to raise his head, diverting his grace to his arms and his hands as he attempts to heave himself off the ground.

He sees Changmin’s irises glow a blinding white as the latter clenches his fist even harder, further pinning him to the ground and rendering him completely immobile.

 _Fuck_ , he thinks, through gritted teeth, as his grace recedes and yields under the overwhelming force restraining him. _Fuck_. He feels cornered, helpless. Changmin is not himself, and he can kill Juyeon at this rate if he wants to.

It’s the desperation that kicks his grace back up anew.

“Jaehyun!” Younghoon cries, rushing to the scene and stopping, mouth agape, when he sees Changmin. There’s a fleeting sense of recognition that dawns upon the latter’s face, and Juyeon, sensing him hesitate, jumps on the chance and rams his body against the Nephilim, grabbing his forearm and hauling it down. He recites a short incantation hastily and the Devil’s Gate opens in front of them, sucking the both of them in and then vanishing into _nothingness_.

Jaehyun feels the vestiges of the Nephilim’s power wearing off as he pulls himself together and sits up, staring disbelievingly ahead. He must have imagined Juyeon giving him a calculated glance for the last time before he disappeared into the other realm. When Younghoon helps him up, a sense of numbness brims below his ribcage, something he hasn’t felt for years.

Slowly, so slowly, it evolves into _grief_ , the feeling constricting his throat unlike any other.

“They’re gone,” he manages, his voice trailing at the end, and the grip that Younghoon has on his arm tightens.

The disbelief that hangs between them ebbs into the void, displaced by a sense of sobriety.

“We should go.”

-

The ride back home was excruciating.

He should be thankful, he thinks, that he managed to get rid of the bane of his existence, albeit indirectly. The nuisance is finally out of his life, and he should even be celebrating.

The muteness inside the car is dulling his celebratory mood, is all.

“They’ll be back,” Younghoon articulates, as if reading his thoughts, and he hates that there’s a false sense of hope in his words, because he does not want to hear it, a thread of hope he wants to hold onto, nor is he looking for any.

He really _isn’t_.

“What, you think they just went on a merry trip to hell?” he snaps before he can catch himself, and then sighs, pitching his voice down a little, “Only one of them will crawl out of it alive.”

He pauses.

“If they’re lucky to survive it at all.”

-

Dreams do not come for his kind, but he finds himself floating in one when he’s finally lulled into sleep days after the incident.

He finds himself cautiously grasping the doorknob, unable to will himself to twist it open just yet, out of fear of uncovering what lies beyond the door.

Juyeon is gone and, admittedly, the hope that he is anything _but_ does not leave him.

He does not fear ghosts. Angels have _no_ right to fear ghosts, nor are they designed to feel such fear. But if he can be truthful, to himself and to Juyeon, whom he thinks does not deserve the cruelty brought upon him by the world and its machinations, even in this particular dream, he wishes for Juyeon to haunt him.

He wishes for Juyeon to come back and tell him all the sorrows that burden him, if it’s any help at all, so he won’t have to succumb to the darkness that reigned his blood for the second time. He’ll even make him a cup of hot Americano when they talk, hold his hand if it gets unbearable, and maybe even bring the other into his embrace once more.

It feels strange to be aware, in startling clarity, of how far he’s fallen, but he would give anything to touch the other again.

He finds himself slipping into the traits that make him feel _humane_ , and the traits, all at once, hold a name.

Juyeon.

He wakes up to an empty bed, and wonders why he bothers wishing, for the hundredth time, for something that will never happen.

-

‘Any news?’

The angel network falls into radio silence in the aftermath of the incident, except for the occasional updates from Younghoon who, similarly, withdrew from the public. They both previously underwent the burden of having to report the incident back at the headquarters, for documentation purposes. A Nephilim being forced through the Devil’s Gate is unheard of in this day and age, but the higher-ups made no move to organize a rescue operation, claiming that it would be considered trespassing on the Devil’s territory, an act that could very well inspire another Holy War.

(It’s a bullshit reason, of course, because he knows the authorities have been secretly plotting the Nephilim’s downfall, out of fear of his capabilities.)

There’s static, first, before he makes out a—

‘Changmin is back.’

He sits up on his bed.

‘What do you mean _he’s back_?’

‘I don’t know. He just appeared and,’ there’s a pause, and he can almost _see_ Younghoon trying to recollect himself, ‘He’s barely alive when I took him in. I don’t know, Jaehyun. It’s unreal, but he’s back.’

‘That’s,’ he starts, mentally fishing for the right word, ‘ _Great_. That’s great.’

He swallows, before firing off the next set of words, ‘Is he—’

‘With someone?’ Younghoon supplies for him, and he feels the cord of tension gripping his throat as he lets out a feeble, ‘Yeah.’

‘Jaehyun, I’m sorry,’ the other says, regret unmistakably evident in his tone, ‘He’s alone.’

What very fragile hope he’s starting to build comes crashing down on him.

‘Changmin hasn’t spoken to anyone yet since he arrived, not to me—’

‘It’s fine,’ he tells the other, shortly, and tries again, with a little more conviction this time, ‘It’s fine. But I’m really glad for you, that you found him again.’

Younghoon does not respond to that, and he’s thankful for the deadening silence that follows.

Somewhere, deep inside his chest, the delicate thread he’s holding on to _snaps_.

-

A month has passed since the incident.

He opts to stay in the city for the meantime, intermittently lending a helping hand to Younghoon regarding the safekeeping of Changmin. The higher-ups, understandably, questioned Younghoon’s hold on the Nephilim and offered to bring him back to the heavens, an option that the other seraph vehemently opposed to, and for all his persistence, he’s _rewarded_ with a demotion, and really, as Jaehyun tells him, he should be grateful that _that’s_ the only punishment he received for going against the council’s judgement.

Changmin, to his credit, felt mortified of what had previously transpired, and offered to find Juyeon in any way he can. He confessed that he had no recollection at all of what happened, and the only thing he remembered from back then was waking up and finding himself slumped all over the pavement near Younghoon’s place.

They gradually fall back into their respective routines.

But for Jaehyun, who regresses into a sense of autopilot, the lack of Juyeon’s presence is a dent in his nonexistent heart that can never be wrought back.

-

He wakes up, much to his irritation, to three consecutive knocks on his door, each succeeding thump louder than the last. The guest, he concludes after a beat, does not seem to be that of a supernatural being, so he walks out of his bedroom and into the living room.

The movement halts as soon as he steps on the doormat.

His hand wavers on the doorknob as he’s unable to suppress a slight, unexplainable thrill of anticipation channeling through his veins.

 _It’s just nerves_ , he tells himself. _Nerves_ he hadn’t felt for so long.

So he twists the doorknob open, and he’s met with a pair of eyes that glimmers of gold.

_Juyeon._

He steps back, skeptical, drinking in the sight of a ghost that’s come to haunt him, until the notion dies when he reaches out, reluctantly, to palm the other’s cheek, to which the latter responds by grasping his hand gently, closing his eyes, and tilting his head a little to bask in the warmth of his touch.

After a moment, Juyeon is looking at him again with half-lidded eyes, his irises now a deep color of brown, a slight smile gracing his features.

He falls into another step forward and, remembering all the promises he’s kept, engulfs the halfling with his arms, and for a second he feels himself fearing the possibility that this is all a dream. But Juyeon, who slowly returns the gesture, is in his embrace, as tangible and real as someone can be, and it’s all that matters in this world and the next.

-

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this mess of a fic!


End file.
